


Keep You Right

by notunbroken



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notunbroken/pseuds/notunbroken
Summary: A very slightly AU post-ep for 5x11. Even after the squad is released for the evening, Andy faces another challenge when it comes to getting Sharon away from the office.





	Keep You Right

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel, of sorts, to ["A Twist in Memory"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8018140). Yeah, I'm still working with the trial shootout, all these months later!

Sharon has kept herself busy with details all afternoon, paperwork and issuing directives, scheming up an interrogation plan, nose to the grindstone. But, even as evil as the crimes at the center of this investigation are — families eliminated for daring to exist, bullets flying through a courtroom — her determination is about more than finding the men accountable. Her tone is the most glaring sign; it’s an anomaly, level as a board and giving nothing away. Everyone in the office has caught that much and is giving her a wide berth.

But there are other signals for Andy alone to catch, pointing toward a desperation to stay in motion, to stay centered on the task at hand rather than sinking into the day’s horrors. With studied focus, she’s avoided meeting his eyes, always with a secondary point of interest at hand: papers, a monitor, her phone, suspects on their way to interview rooms. Keeping that practical focus. Her expression is fixed in a slight frown, just this side of flat. It means she’s turning something over, or turning _everything_ over, in her head, despite her best efforts to stay busy.

She’ll want to find, eventually, the one loose thread that sent the whole thing unravelling. The question he faces is whether he should let her pick at it in isolation or offer a distraction.

With Graff in custody, the day’s work draws to a natural stopping point. Around the bullpen, with everyone sunk into their chairs, air seems to push out of the space. There’s barely room for breathing, around the enormity of what went down in that courtroom, now that they’ve taken a moment to weigh it.

Andy glances to the shuttered blinds and closed door behind his chair, wondering how much room is left inside that office.

Mike stands first, with a heavy sigh. “I should probably get home if we’re, uh,” he glances toward Sharon’s office, then to Provenza, “if we’re done for today.”

“We are,” Provenza says, standing. He nods to Julio, Amy, and Buzz. “Good work, everyone. Go home and get some rest. We’ll pick up with Mr. Graff tomorrow.”

On principle alone, Andy considers speaking up, telling him that it isn’t his place to be calling an end to the work. But it’s already well into evening on a day that was too long by noon, and they could all use some time to decompress. Most of all the person who _should_ be wrapping up the day.

As everyone else takes the opportunity to leave, Provenza approaches, unrolling his shirtsleeves. He’s buttoning his cuffs, eyes downcast, when he says, “Now. Are you ready for the hard part?”

Andy straightens out of his chair, rolling tension from his neck. “This isn’t the hard part.”

No, he expects that’ll come later, when all of Sharon’s distractions have disintegrated and she has to choose whether to flee or to face the enormity of what’s happened.

“Just get her home, into a comfortable environment. A good meal and solid night’s sleep do wonders. You know how it is.”

It’s a step past propriety to explain that there’s no way Sharon will be sleeping soundly any time soon, so Andy just nods.

Provenza points at the door. “I’ll handle the practicalities, if you want to do the convincing.”

His suggestion has Andy scowling. “What, we’re good-cop-bad-copping this?”

“Sure, why not?” Provenza looks at him sidelong. “Better than watching you sit here, staring at her door like an abandoned dog.”

“I’m not—”

“Look, out of deference for your _relationship_ , I’m even letting _you_ be the good cop.”

It’s meant to be a rib, maybe, but all of the Nazis surrounding this case have wrung any humor out of the day. This isn’t funny in the least.

“I don’t need your help here, you know.”

“Sure.” Provenza stands aside and holds a palm out to the door in question, the universal gesture for ‘be my guest.’

After giving him a level glare, Andy raps on the door. The response he expects is delayed. He considers knocking again just as she says, “Come in.”

Inside, Sharon is angled away from her desk, so that she has to crane her neck to glance at the door when he steps through it. Something shifts, minimal but noticeable, in the crease of her brow. He wants to think it’s a positive change, but he isn’t quite able to convince himself of that.

“Andy.”

It’s easy to overlook the easy warmth she greets him with at the end of the day, at least until it isn’t there.

“Hey.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “You ready to get out of here?”

She brushes fingertips over her forehead, turning back to a folder laying open in her lap. “Not quite.”

“Uh, okay.” Although he’d been half-expecting this response, he hadn’t thought through a counter. He could press on her reasoning, raise some practical concerns. He could try the guilt works and wait for it to backfire. But anything he could say feels like overkill. So, with no words at all, he settles into one of the chairs across her desk.

This earns him a long, over-the-glasses stare. But it’s eye contact, and it’s a familiar enough reaction to ease away some of his concern. Sharon blinks back to her lap. “Where’s Graff?”

“Central booking.”

Now she lifts an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little early to send him away for the night?”

Andy says, “No.”

He plans to let the point stand on its own, let the disagreement burn a bit. _Look at me, dammit._ But Provenza picks this moment to round the corner and elaborate. “Captain, I’ve already sent everyone else home.”

Her eyes narrow in his direction, adding another layer of normalcy to the situation. “And why would you have done that, after —”

The facade comes crashing down when her voice breaks. She drops her gaze again and swallows hard. Andy glares at Provenza and is about two seconds from calling everyone back to PAB, just to fix this.

But Provenza is committed to his tack. “It’s late. Everyone’s been here for upwards of 36 hours. We should all head home and pick this up tomorrow.”

Sharon presses her mouth into a thin line, still staring at her desk. This is Andy’s cue to pile on something about how she’d feel better at home, curled on the couch with something warm to eat. Provenza signals as much with a long nod in his direction, rolling his hand mid-air. _Spit it out_.

Before he can broach the subject, though, Sharon puts an end to the impromptu game of charades with a dismissive, “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Provenza frowns. This isn’t the outcome he’s expected But, after trading a pointed look with Andy, he says, “Sure thing. Have a good evening, Captain.”

After he goes, Sharon turns her back to the door again and returns her attention to the folder.

“What’ve you got there?” Andy asks.

“Deputy Simms’ personnel file.”

“Anything worthwhile?”

“Not so far.” She squints at something, then turns the page. “There’s a lot here, though.”

He keeps throwing softballs, hoping she’ll keep engaging. “He’s a lifer, right?”

“Just about.” She flips to another sheet.

“You want some help going through that?”

“No, I’ve got it covered.” She’s avoiding him again, pretending to be engrossed in what’s probably a list of transfers, citations, and demerits as dry as a saltine. It’s a twisted image, like he’s stepped into her office on a random day five years ago. Back when she wouldn’t have any reason to clue him in on what she’s going through.

She shatters that particular illusion by saying, “Andy, why don’t you head home? I’ll catch up with you there in a little while.”

The usual rush he gets with her casual use of ‘home’ between them is overrun by disbelief. “No way.”

This draws Sharon’s attention away from the folder. But instead of the annoyance he expected, her expression is dominated by that weird flatness she’s been carrying all day. The non-reaction strengthens his determination to get her home.

She blinks at him. “Excuse me?"

Andy crosses his arms. “I’m not leaving you here, by yourself, to flip through that folder.” For good measure, he adds, “Which can just as easily be taken home too, y’know.”

She purses her lips and stares out the window, to where the sky has darkened to purple. “I’m just wondering if we’ve done all we can do today.”

What she’s really wondering is whether _she’s_ done enough today, to go home and return to her life and not be trapped in whatever knots she’s trying to untangle in her mind. The hard answer is that there isn’t enough work in this entire building for her to plow through to somehow make this go away.

But Andy’s most important role tonight, now that their workday is over, is to help her be okay. And if that means taking a new step, digging in while his feet are planted on her professional turf...so be it.

“Yes. We have.” When her only reaction is a miniscule shake of her head, he turns to logic, the secret weapon she can’t resist.  “I know you want to keep going on this, but you can’t stay here forever, and you can’t work alone.”

Her eyes trace his path as he rounds her desk. “Sharon, I’m not gonna watch while you run yourself into the ground. So.” Standing in front of her chair, he holds out his hand with a smile. “C’mon. It’ll all still be here tomorrow.”

She’s still for a moment, watching him. Her pause is long enough for Andy to consider what other tactics he could use to lure her from the office. But she closes the folder onto her desk with a sigh and lets him help her up from her chair.

To his surprise, she steps close and wraps her arms around his waist. It’s a small sign he’s doing okay when it comes to feeling this situation out. With this reassurance, he smooths his palms down her back. Even now, the muscles along her spine are rigid.

Her voice is muffled into his shoulder when she says, “I just feel like I should be doing _something_.”

“Going home _is_ doing something.” Creature of habit that he is, he follows this point by nudging her hair with his nose.

It’s probably just history and imagination playing a trick on his ears, but he swears he hears a subtle snort of laughter. Then again, when she pulls back, there’s a flicker of _something_ , maybe gratitude, when she looks at him. _Actually_ looks at him. “You’re incorrigible, Andy.”

“That surprises you?”

There’s that pseudo-laugh again, paired with a scoff. “No.”

This part, at least, is doable. They’re gonna be alright. Sharon stuffs Simms’ file into her bag before lifting it onto her shoulder. It seems to settle there with the weight of a linebacker. With that, whatever glimmer of lightheartedness they’d salvaged is gone.

“Okay,” she sighs, “you win.” She dips her fingers into the outside pocket of the bag and pulls out her keys, dangling them from her outstretched index finger. Exhaustion, making itself known at last, colors her voice when she says, “That means you drive.”

Even in the worst of LA traffic, that would be the smallest challenge of the day. 

“My pleasure.” He takes the keys and drops them into his pocket before curling his arm along the small of her back. As they make their way through the empty office and quiet hallways of the PAB, Andy lets himself believe that some of their recent troubles drop away, like breadcrumbs, in their wake.

 

 

 


End file.
